


Just One Second.

by Pokypup49



Series: Royai Week 2019 [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Anger, Angst, Death, Depression, F/M, I'm Sorry, I'm sorry Roy, Prompt 2, Royai - Freeform, Royai Week 2019, Saving a Life, cry cry cry, moral decisions, not really sorry, tissues needed, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 15:46:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19176418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokypup49/pseuds/Pokypup49
Summary: Just one second can take life and give life. It can also change his life forever. And for just a second, he wishes she was back, that he could have another second to have her again.





	Just One Second.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Fullmetal or any of the characters. I will own your tears.
> 
> Special thanks to fullmetalscully for giving me a quick bet. You can find her awesomeness on tumblr @fullmetalscullyy. Thank you again. 
> 
> Also... thank you to @ruikosakuragi for telling to go for it. This is your fault. ;)

                Life changes in a second. It only takes a second for life to be turned upside down, for better or worse. Though General Roy Mustang thought that all the changes were on the upside of life, that specific second was not. And in that second, his mind reminded him how much he didn’t deserve happiness; how much happiness he had robbed from others. It was also the only other second in his life where he felt his heart stop, the sweat dripped down his temples, and his body strain against its restraints. But Lieutenant Breda would not let go. In that second, there was no sound or anyone else there. All he could see what her lifeless body fall to the ground as he was pulled from the parade grounds. He couldn’t even hear himself screaming. In the next second, he was dragged unwillingly into the nearby building. Everything had a cost, an equivalent exchange. Was this the price for his success in Ishval? **  
**

                Mustang didn’t get to see his Captain again till the area was cleared and the shooter was identified. Of course, he demanded the man be brought to justice, and that he was to be apprehended immediately. “Sir,” Breda argued, now playing the role of their beloved Captain. “You can’t just light him on fire.”

                “Like hell, I can’t,” he barked.

                Lieutenant Breda flinched at the loud tone. He was angry too, but the voice of reason wasn’t there anymore. Someone had to fill her shoes until ….  Breda didn’t want to finish that sentence. He’d seen more than the General.

                “Where is she?”

                Breda apparently took too long to answer. “Shes…”

                Mustang grabbed his jacket roughly, pulling him up towards him with a violent shake. “Where the fuck is she?”

                What was Breda supposed to say? He and every other officer in the room would answer the morgue. He and every officer in the room also valued their lives. “I will find that out,” Breda growled as he fought against his superior’s hold.

                Mustang dropped him, turning from his as he covered his face with his hand. “And find the shooter. I want him by the end of the day, do you hear me?” He glared coldly at the other officers who saluted without a moment more and scampered off to their duties.  Breda seemed as if he was taking his time on purpose. Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose as he paced back and forth. He wanted to go look for the man personally. He wanted to find the man in a back alley, burn him slowly from the outside in. His fist tightened as he thought about it, about how he would set fire to every cell, listening to the man beg for mercy. There’d be none. In that second, that bullet, the man had presumingly stolen everything from Mustang. His body shook as he held back tears, as he held himself together. He had the power of an army, he couldn’t break now.

                “Sir?”

                Mustang spun around, seeing Breda holding himself up by his knees. “She was taken to the infirmary,” he heaved. As Mustang flinched to move, Breda held up his hand to stop him. “They did what they could but sent her to St. Michael’s Private Hospital.”

                He felt his knees weaken for a second, before straightening, hoping to hide his weakness. It was the hospital she’d requested to go to if anything bad were to happen. “Move out,” he ordered. His long strides almost beat Breda to the door. “And find the bastard,” he called back to his officers before the door slammed behind him.

                He had the same authoritative demand in St. Michael’s. The strong and loud steps commanded control as he yelled orders to take him to his subordinate. Most nurses looked nervous, looking around in hopes that one had enough courage to say anything. A tall older woman with black hair pointed down the hall. “But, Sir,” she tried to intervene.

                Mustang marched past her, not heeding her warnings at all. He charged down the illuminated hall, smelling the disinfectant and polish of the floors. His shoes clapped as he stepped, long strides rhythmed. A doctor finally stopped him and asked him what he was doing there. Breda had stopped with the nurse, talking with her as she explained Riza’s/Hawkeye’s condition. He looked at his General’s shoulders as they slumped, his body giving way, and Mustang’s hand reaching for the wall.

                “She’s highly unlikely to wake,” the nurse continued to say. “The shock to her organs have left her in a critical state. She should have died just from the shock.” Breda was barely listening as he watched Mustang. There was the man he had grown to love, have complete faith in, and followed him into a coup. The man had earned every ounce of trust and loyalty Breda had to give. But Breda could not help him this time. He wasn’t sure anyone could. “Then add on the factors of blood loss. Lieutenant, are you listening? Her organs are bruised. Her days are numbered to hours if that.”

                Breda nodded slowly. He waved at her as he made his way to Mustang. The proud man was leaning against the wall, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. His arms pillowed his head from the textured wallpaper as his tears free fell onto the polished while linoleum. “Mustang,” Breda whispered gently.

                He didn’t reply.

                Breda stood, with his hand on his General’s back, looking around and hoping that no one was taking in the consideration of Mustang’s reaction to the Captain’s condition. And after a minute or two, Mustang stood up, reaching for an offered tissue from his loyal subordinate, and attempted to compose himself. He tried to tell Breda what he’d heard, but the lieutenant stopped him and nodded.

                The room was chilly, the machine heaving as it filled with air, nearly whistling as it pumped her lungs full of oxygen. Her chest rose slightly, then deflating. Needles, tubes, and wires drown her, connecting her to every machine the hospital had to alert them of her last moment. The men stood in the doorway, not able to move from it as they saw her. Her face was pale, nearly white, her hair still had blood on the ends, but most of the blood had been cleaned from her. She had on a few blankets, but they could see where her torso was wrapped by the bulge in the covers. Motionless. Her brown eyes were not even open to greet them. They were also dead. She was dead. The only thing that kept her alive was the machine pumping air into her lungs via the large tube that extended from her throat.

                It was now Breda’s turn to hold himself together, and he blinked in astonishment that suddenly Mustang had it together. “I’m… “ Breda swallowed, trying not to tear up. He coughed, clearing his throat. “I’m going to try and get more details.”

                Mustang nodded as he stepped towards her. All the steps in the world could not bring him any closer any faster. Whereas before, his steps demanded control and command, but in that cool dark room, his steps were absent of sound. He didn’t want to disturb her though his heart ached for her to wake. He pulled a chair up next to her, getting as close to her as he could as he sat down and grabbed her had. She was cold to the touch, her fingers stiffer than usual. As his thumb ran over the back of her hand, he could feel the IV. He ran his finger along her palm, hoping to see her flinch to his touch, but nothing. He coughed quietly as his tears returned to him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Riza, I’m so sorry.” He stood, running his hand, petting her softly, over her golden hair. “Don’t leave me,” he begged. “God, Riza, I’m so sorry.” His body collapsed into the seat. There weren’t enough tears to bring her back, but he was going to try. He held her limp hand to his forehead as his body jerked with each cough.

                It was all his fault. From the start, it was his fault. The moment he accepted her as his aide, her destiny was sealed. That second to this one. This mere moment in life was possibly the last one he had with her. And it was his fault. He prayed to Truth, begging him to take anything of himself, just to see her open her eyes. He’d give his own eyes, again. He’d give any part of himself, even the possibility of being Fuhrer. But there was no bargaining to be had. And Mustang knew that deep down.

                The nurses and the doctor again explained her condition. “There is a tiny sliver that she could recover,” the doctor said quietly, seemingly to regret even offering the hope that wasn’t there. “The machines are keeping her alive.” he flipped through a couple pages. “General. I see that she has no family. Oddly enough, she has you as beneficiary and power of attorney. At this point, you have to make living decisions for her.” It was a tough topic. Tough wasn’t even the right word. Excruciating, soul-crushing, conversation was more like it. It felt as if Mustang’s heart was being squeezed. “I know this is hard to hear, but if you decide…”

                Mustang lifted his hand and Breda stood up to move beside his fallen friend. “I know what it means, Doctor.”

                “Just keep that in mind.” The doctor looked back at her. “It’s not right to leave her like this forever. At some point her body will stop functioning, degrade, and she will die.”

                He understood. He folded his hands, resting his brow on them.

                The doctor nodded. Mustang heard the papers fall on the clipboard. “It’s up to her,” he whispered and stepped outside again.

                Breda fell asleep in the other chair. His head was leaned back, his hands clasped together on his stomach. His red hair was just as distressed at Mustang’s. But neither man wanted to leave. They didn’t want to be gone when she’d awakened. The black haired general sat diligently by her side, touching her arm, her face, her hand… His thumb gently traced the dark lines under her eyes, sliding down her cheek, feeling the softness that was left. The clock said it was nearly eleven at night, but he had no intentions on leaving. Even when the nurse came in and told him it was past visitor hours.

                “Please, General. We will call you if there are any changes.”

                Breda patted his arm as he stumbled out the door, pulling the nurse with him. Mustang stood to follow, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand once more. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he breathed. He leaned down, carefully so as not to disrupt all the wires and tubes the strained from her, as his lips gently pressed on her forehead. “I promise.”

                But Mustang didn’t want to go home. He ordered Breda to drop him off in front of Hawkeye’s apartment. “I have to get Hayate,” he muttered his excuse. The dog was older now but got along well with his white dog, Zero. He’d been home all day by himself, and Mustang was sure that the dog was worrying about his master. The thought brought Mustang’s chest a stabbing pain. Breda agreed to wait in the car as Mustang climbed up the few stairs to get into the apartment. Hayate was there to greet him, as usual, with a tail wag and a happy face. He could smell her. Usually, it was something that went unnoticed. But this time he could smell her clearly. The apartment was clean besides a few boxes. Hayate led him to his food bowl where he barked once then went back to the door to bark twice. The poor guy had been home too long by himself. Roy looked up again as he grabbed Hayate’s leash and saw a bundle of brightly colored flowers on her dining table.

_“I’m sorry I can’t stay,” he had whispered to her, nibbling on her earlobe. “I have to go.”_

_“Well,” she giggled as ran her hands down his bare chest. “I guess the flowers will do then.”_

                Roy put his hand out to catch himself from falling. He didn’t have the energy or the tears left to cry, but somewhere his body still had it to sob. She was gone. This was all that was left of her. And he’d be going through the things deciding what parts of her he wanted to keep. When in reality, nothing else mattered but her. His fist hit the counter and he yelled in anger. “Fuck!”

                Hayate whimpered and retreated with his tail between his legs into the bedroom. Roy grabbed the leash and sat on the ground. “I’m sorry, Hayate. Let’s go, Zero misses you.” He wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to get up and get back to the car. In truth, he’d prefer just to stay here, burying his face in her pillow, and sleep.

                He went to see her first thing in the morning, but there was no improvement. By afternoon, the assassin had been apprehended, but Breda promised to have him dealt with. He was sharp to remind him of Envy before telling Mustang to go back to the hospital. The next day, and a few afterward, Mustang brought Hayate with him, in hopes that she’d wake to him. But motionless she remained. He brought his work with him, sitting in the chair with Hayate at his feet, as he looked over papers. He would not abandon her. He didn’t have it in him. If Breda wasn’t around, he probably wouldn’t eat or drink either. His lieutenant would show up with a coffee and a sandwich or something, encouraging him to go for a walk while he stayed. One evening, Hayate curled up in his master’s lap, whining as he nudged against her leg. Mustang watched. He wanted to curl up alongside her too. And he probably would have if there weren’t so many wires and not enough space. He’d give this one to Hayate. All the years in competition with the canine for her touch and affection, he’d give him this one.

                A week later, he went by the apartment again. He wanted to send Breda, or even Falman, but her space had become theirs. He opened the door, flipping on the light as he peeked into the room. He took off his shoes, hanging up his jacket. The papers were somewhere. She was always organized, they were probably in the open. He looked up from his white socks to see those same flowers. They were wilted and dried. Mustang walked over to them slowly, wanting to cry, wanting to feel emotion again. But all he could feel was a rushing surge of anger. He picked up the vase, readying himself to throw it across the room. He wanted to throw the table, break every dish, punch holes in the wall. But instead, he put the vase down, looking at them again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to them. “I forgot about you.” As he searched through a few places for the yellow folder, he thought that maybe he should keep fresh flowers there every day, just in case she did come home. In case…

                He was shaken awake one afternoon as Lieutenant Breda stood over him. “General,” he whispered. He was his office, his feet on the desk as his chair reclined back. He looked around as he yawned. “Lieutenant.”

                Breda leaned close to him. “There’s something that needs to be discussed.”

                Mustang leaned back farther in his chair. “Do I get to meet the bastard? Or did you already have him executed.”

                He saw Breda flinch out of the corner of his eye.

                Mustang reached into his drawer, pulling out a pair of white gloves, throwing them on the desk.

                “You know we can’t have that,” Breda whispered.

                “Give me just five minutes…”

                “Sir,” Breda said sternly. “The hospital called.”

                The general looked at him more alert. His eyes now wide awake as his feet met the floor with a loud crack in the peaceful office.

                “They’d like to discuss something with you.”

                It wasn’t that she had awakened. It was something else. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose with a loud groan. “I’m not going to let her die,” he muttered.

                “Please, Sir. We need to go.”

                Back into the hospital. He was there more than he was anywhere else. The nurses and the doctors greeted him as he walked down the hall to her room. It was empty, the machine breathing for her in its loud pumping sounds. Every time, and this time, his silent steps took him to her side. “Riza,” he breathed as he took her hand again. Her fingers were still cold, white as snow, and her face hadn’t changed. Time did not exist in the room.  And he hated it.

                “General,” the doctor greeted.

                Mustang turned to see a different doctor in the doorway, shutting the door behind him. He seemed less apologetic than the one he normally dealt with. Breda stood in the corner of the room, looking just skeptical as Mustang.

                “This isn’t going to be easy,” he began, his words cold.

                “What,” Mustang muttered. “You need her room?”

                “We have a young lady who needs a heart.”

                Mustang heard Breda fall into the rickety chair. His own heart tightened and his body tensed. Is that what they wanted? They wanted to take her heart, the most vital piece of her existence, the one part of her that truly belonged to him, and put it into someone else. He turned his back to the doctor, his hands sweating as they grasped the metal bar on the bed. His eyes clamped shut, tight enough to see stars.

                “She’s been on the list for years,” the doctor continued, not phased by the General, or his Lieutenant’s reactions. “But her heart is failing. She only has days to live.”

                “Get out,” Mustang growled.

                “Wait,” Lieutenant Breda interrupted. “How do you know if they are compatible?”

                “You fucking took her blood without my permission?” Mustang roared.

                He shook his head. “We have records.” He glared at Breda. “When we gave her blood, we had to take information for her in case she needed a transplant.” His stern and emotionless face turned back to the grieving man. “Please consider this, General,“ the doctor insisted. "Captain Hawkeye would be saving this girl’s life. We have been monitoring her vitals and over the past two weeks, there has been absolutely no progress.”

                “I said get out.” His hands slipped off the bars, his shoulder quaking with the anger that surged through his veins.

                “The heart is one of the only organs that isn’t terribly-”

                Mustang turned around, taking three strides to get his hands on the doctor’s white jacket. “How fucking dare you!”

                Breda sprang from his chair to pry his superior off the medical professional. “Roy!” There were only a handful of times Haymans Breda ever called Mustang by his first name. This was one of them.

                But Mustang ignored him. “You’re going to let her die?” He yelled as shook the man’s jacket, shaking the man in the process. “You fucking bastard!”

                “Let go, Roy!” Breda finally pulled them apart, breathing heavily. They looked at each other in the dark hospital room which was now her coffin. Even with the temperature cooler, all of them had sweat dripping from their hairline.

                “General,” the doctor straightened his coat. “You are the only one who can make that decision. You are the only one who has power of attorney. We don’t know how long the girl has, but if you need time to decide…”

                Breda did his duty as he stepped between the doctor and his friend. He put his hand up and shook his head, glaring at the man of equal height. “That’s enough,” he said lowly. “We can talk more later.”

                But Roy didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to give up on her. Not once did she ever give up on him. Not even in the depths of the Central tunnels in his most dire of times. He looked over his shoulder at her. But the doctor was right. And although there still was a sliver of hope, General Roy Mustang knew she wasn’t coming back. He was holding onto something that wasn’t real.

                “Roy,” Breda whispered. The heavy man with bright red hair reached out to him, his hand resting on Mustang’s shoulder. It felt as if the hand weighed a ton. His shoulders now carried his whole life.

                “Anything,” he breathed, closing his eyes, dropping his head. His shoulders began to shake and his legs fell from beneath him. Breda helped him fall, lowering both of them to the ground. No words needed to be said. Besides the loud pumping sounds and the regular beeping of the heart monitor, the only other sound was a grown man, a General in the Amestrian Army, a man who led a coup d'etat against a homunculus at the ripe age of 30, sobbing into a friend’s chest. They were tears of the loss. Finally. He had come to accept it. Finally. There was nothing, no sacrifice, that could make it better. And he’d promised her never to perform human transmutation. He’d at least keep that promise to her. “I can’t say no,” he muttered, holding Breda’s jacket in his fists as they shook. “We can’t let someone die for our own happiness.” The words were broken between the sobs and sniffles of the broken man.

                His decision had been made.

                Breda let a tear drip onto the polished floor, holding his friend tightly to his chest. He didn’t like it either. It was always Riza that he had followed. The woman was invincible, loyal, and fearless. Most of all, she was compassionate. Many times he’d seen her in a different light; ruffling Fuery’s hair with a bright smile, holding Havoc’s waist as they laughed, having lunch with Falman under a big oak tree in the back courtyard as they both read a book, standing equal with himself and giving him a fist pump. Most of all, she was always seen standing behind Roy Mustang. Breda knew what was between them. The tears he’d shed into Mustang’s shoulder were for his friend. Roy was losing his partner.

                There was talk, quiet talk, between the two of who to contact. It would take a day, maybe a day and a half for Edward to reach them. Falman could get there right away, but Fuery was out in Central. He’d also take a day if not more. Havoc could be there in a couple hours at the least. Breda got up, patting the shoulder of Mustang’s, and moved to the window. “She’d be upset if you didn’t,” he attempted to comfort. “You know how she is.” He took off his uniform jacket and tossed it into another chair. He reached for the blinds of the tiny window and opened them for the first time of their visits. The sun was bright, glistening off the yellow hair and pale face. She was beautiful. Both men thought so. “Can the other girl wait a day?”

                Mustang didn’t move. He sat, defeated in a chair, shoulders hunched over, his face in his hands as his fingers kneaded his forehead.

                “I think Falman and Havoc should know,” he continued, standing with his back to the sunshine.

                Roy nodded. “Go ahead,” he croaked, his throat coated with flem. “And get Hayate.”

                Breda saluted, his heels clicking, before walking swiftly out the door. There was a loud click that left the two of them alone. He still held his tears back as he watched her. “Show me any sign,” he begged one last time. “God damn it, Riza. Just one flicker of your finger, one eye twitch, a smile… something. Give me just enough to call this off.”

                Nothing but the inhale and exhale of the machine. He watched carefully, still wishing he didn’t have to make this decision.  

                “You never left me instructions on what to do with your apartment,” he spoke casually. “It’s such a nice view of the market. We used to walk down there and get apples and pears.” He stood up to lean over her. “It still smells like you. Even after two weeks, I can still smell you. I can smell us.” He choked again, fighting the rushing emotions that threatened to spill. “Hayate knows you’re gone. He’s been super cuddly. He and Zero curl up together in the evenings.” His fingers ran through her hair. “I haven’t been slacking. Ask Breda. He’s been keeping me on track. But it’s not the same as you. He doesn’t smirk at me like you do. And his coffee is terrible.” He lit out a choking chuckle. There in the sun, he leaned over her and told her everything she had missed the past two weeks.

                Jean and Becca were able to make it, though they’d seen her earlier, they knew it was coming. Jean pulled Mustang outside so that Becca could say goodbye to her best friend, offering him a smoke. They didn’t talk, only stood against the hospital wall and smoked one cigarette after another. “I want every capable officer in the halls here at 0600 hours tomorrow morning,” he ordered quietly to Breda.

                That night, Hayate arrived, the door was locked, and Roy spent the last night he could with the woman who had stood by him for so long. What he wanted to do was lay beside her. He wanted to smell her hair, breathe her in, hold her for his own securities, one last time. But he couldn’t. He set her old dog between her legs, making sure he was comfortable before pulling a recliner next to her. His fingers intertwined with hers as he settled in. She didn’t grasp back, though he desperately wished she would. He looked up at the ceiling, feeling like he was unable to sleep. After all, it was his last night listening to her breath. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to sleep. He spoke softly, tender words, recounting all the moments that he’d never forget. He went over the dearest memories, how he’d always keep his promises to her.

                “The ceiling is so grey,” he commented sourly. “They could have colored it nicely for you,” he muttered. “Riza,” he whispered. “Riza, if you wake before I do, please say my name, squeeze my hand.” He looked at her as his eyes began to drift. He was exhausted. Though it was only two in the morning, he needed to be awake at five to prepare for her departure. “You know,” he breathed, “You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. That will never change.”

                Five arrived too soon. Breda unlocked the door, opening it quietly to wake his General. In his hand he held a new uniform, the brightest of blue. Mustang stood, beginning to undress. Slowly he fitted himself, taking his hat under his arm. Breda stood at the door, at attention, in full uniform also. As the last button was done, and his hair done properly, Breda nodded to him. Mustang turned to his Captain. “How do I look?”

                Silence.

                He clicked his heels together, bringing his arm up sharply, his hand stiff as it met his brow. “Until we meet again, Captain.” He reached over, helping Hayate off the bed, leashing him. “Move out.”

                The nurses ushered him out and in that time, he ordered the officers to line the halls. Breda did most of the organizing, with Havoc standing next to Breda and Becca. Falman patted Mustang’s shoulder, nodding as he took his position by her door. It was regretful that no one else from his former team was there. Mustang walked down to the last door, inspecting each officer along the way. He stood at attention, looking down the hall. She deserved more. She had always deserved more. Her dog sat loyally by his side now, looking up at him with sad eyes. It seemed even he knew she was going away. That this was the last even his grey eyes would see of her.

                “A-ten-tion!” Falman’s voice rang through the halls. A string of clicks of heels followed down to General Mustang. “I present to you, the last walk of Captain Hawkeye! Salute!” A string of stiff salutes followed and Mustang’s arm slowly rising as his chest tightened. He couldn’t cry. Not anymore. He had to be strong for so many reasons, most of all for her.

                A whine broke the silence and Mustang looked down at Hayate looking up. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed. The squeaky wheels made their way down the hall, stopping as they came to the door. Mustang lowered his arm from the salute. “I thank you for your service Captain. For your sacrifice, your country of Amestris thanks you. We will take it from here. Rest easy.” Just like that. She disappeared behind the swinging doors.

                In that second, it was over. She was gone.

_“Are you with me?”_

_“Till the end, Sir.”_

* * *

 

                “In my lifetime, I have buried two of my best friends,” he muttered to the gravestone with her name on it. He was in his civilian clothes, tans and whites. Jean stood beside him, looking down the row at another family, then back at Riza. He turned to Jean wiping a tear from his cheek with his thumb chuckling at the irony. “Equivalent exchange…” He nodded. “She gave a life for that girl’s. Isn’t that human transmutation? That’s taboo.” He laughed softly.

                Jean nodded slowly. “I heard she’s doing well,” he whispered. “The lady she saved,” he explained. “Did you want to meet her?”

                Mustang shook his head, not taking his eyes off the grey stone.

                “She was more stringent on moral values,” Jean laughed. “I don’t think she could live with herself if she knew that you let that girl die to save her.”

                “I know.” Mustang cleared his throat. He turned to his blonde friend. “Speaking of morals. I heard the man who shot her was shot in his cell after an altercation with a guard…” Roy scratched his face. “But none of the other guards saw it. And there was a visitor there with the initials… J…H…” He raised his eyebrow. “You wouldn’t know anything about that would you, Jean?”

                Jean shook his head, letting a smirk slip from the side of his face. “I’m sorry, General. I don’t. But if I hear anything, I will let you know.”

                Mustang nodded slowly, sighing. “Well then, come on. I have to clean her apartment.” He patted his leg for Hayate to follow. The dog, which had curled against the stone. “I know,” Mustang sighed. “I don’t want to leave either.” He patted his leg again. “We can come back tomorrow.” It looked as if the dog was truly reluctant to leave. The two men waited for Hayate as he stood up, putting his head down and following them to the car.  

**Author's Note:**

> I had to stop writing this TWICE because I couldn't stop crying. My husband almost made me stop. Maybe I'm just too emotional. What we will do for a prompt huh. As is with Royai, Angst and Smut. This is the Angst part. I promise to make it up on another day this week. Thank you for reading. It means a lot to me.


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